


Thicker than Blood

by ccatastrophic



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Eventual Romance, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:40:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24905491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ccatastrophic/pseuds/ccatastrophic
Summary: Following a close escape from Malfoy manor, Hermione is left in terrible physical shape. Upon her awakening, her world is turned around and upside down- Harry and Ron have left her, and her body hardly follows her commands. As if things couldn't get any worse, a broken blonde man appears, seeking sanctuary. Now, she is left to her own devices, to feel, to think, and to fight.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 1
Kudos: 19





	Thicker than Blood

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to the first chapter of "Thicker than Blood" and thank you for being here! I am beyond excited to share this story with all of you, and plan to update once a week (roughly). Please review! I love to hear your thoughts, suggestions, and opinions. That's all for now- happy reading!

Pale sunlight cascaded onto the white bedspread, creating a soft glow, pressing the feeling of warmth into Hermione’s legs beneath. It touched the white walls gently, highlighting every corner of the small room. Hermione never liked the color white, it lacked emotion, authenticity, and strength. But, sitting in the all-white room with the early morning sun smiling down on her, she had to admit it was rather calming. However, she was anything but.

It was a small room, but a clean one, smelling of fresh linen. It was simple, a drastic opposite of her current situation. There was the bed where she lie, complete with a sheet, blanket, and a singular pillow. A white bedside table sat to her left, and resting upon it was her wand, a piece of half-eaten chocolate, and a glass of water. Across from her was a window, opened partially and allowing a cool breeze to brush her face lightly. That was all the room held, but she reveled in its simplicity.

Blowing out a breath, Hermione sat up slowly, the previously dull pounding in her head increasing with every inch her body rose. She fought to ignore it, pressing her teeth together and balling her fists. It was a small accomplishment, she realized, to stay conscious for as long as she had. But she needed answers, she needed assurances, explanations, and apologies. The feeling of the unknown was drowning her, making her feel like a shell of herself.

She reached a full sitting position, grimacing at her weakness. Her left arm, she saw as she looked down, was wrapped in thick bandaging, yet she could not feel it at all. Most likely, she presumed, the effect of a painlessness potion. Hermione gingerly ran her fingers along the wrapped arm, confirming her suspicion of the potion when not even her light touch could be felt. Her movements were slow and non-cooperative, as if she was drunk.

A soft knock came at the doorway, and her head screamed at her in protest as she turned it a fraction to see her visitor. A head of red hair entered her room, contrasting greatly with the white interior. Ginny held in her arms a variety of vials, which Hermione presumed were filled with potions for her.

“Hermione,” Ginny almost whispered, “you’re awake.”

“Barely.” Hermione croaked back.

“How are you feeling?” she asked softly, cocking her head slightly.

“Terrible.” she admitted honestly, “What happened? Where are Harry and Ron? Where _are_ we?” she asked slowly, her eyes scoping the room once again, begging for a sign of familiarity.

“I don’t know if I’m the one to tell you,” Ginny answered, eyes downcast. She raised her shoulders slightly and glanced down to Hermione’s bandaged arm. “I have potions for you.”

Hermione eyed them suspiciously. “What are they?” she questioned.

“Dreamless sleep, painlessness, skele-grow..” she continued to list off the contents of the vials.

“I don’t want them.” Hermione stated, though her body did not agree. “If you can’t tell me what’s going on, send in someone who can.” She felt a small pang of guilt at Ginny’s taken aback expression, but steeled herself. She was never one to be left questioning things, she needed answers, and she needed them now.

“How much do you remember?” Ginny asked, not meeting her eyes. A wave of memories flooded Hermione’s mind. The Malfoy manor, Bellatrix, being tortured, the dungeons. She remembered Dobby, she remembered being saved.

“Where are Harry and Ron?” Hermione repeated, “ _Why_ are they not here with me? What’s going on Ginny? Where am-“

Remus entering the room broke off Hermione’s interrogation, but she didn’t miss the tears brimming in her best friend’s sister’s eyes. “Hermione,” he said calmly, “you’re awake.”

“Yes, we’ve established that.” She snapped, irritation growing with every moment of being left in the dark. “Can someone tell me what in Merlin’s name is going on?”

“Can you walk, with the help of Ginny and I?” he asked simply, “There are people here who can explain everything, and who you have some things to explain to."

She allowed Remus and Ginny to put an arm under each of hers and gently lift her to a standing position, she took a small step, and wobbled greatly. This shakiness, this weakness, was foreign to her. She wanted to scream. Their grip on her reinforced, and the three slowly made their way out of the white hospital-like room and down a wide hallway, not one of them speaking a word. They reached a kitchen, which, for the amount of people that were residing in it, was eerily silent. At the table, Hermione recognized Kingsley, Tonks, Moody, and Bill and Charlie Weasley. Leaning against the clean countertops was Fleur, Molly, as well as Fred and George. The atmosphere was sober, and not a single person was speaking. Upon her entrance, all eight heads turned immediately.

“ _Oh_ ,” came a cry from Molly Weasley, as she rushed towards Hermione's hunched form, arms outstretched and tears brimming in her eyes, “Hermione dear, I just am-“ she sniffled as Hermione gratefully accepted her hug, her loving warmth, “I am just so happy to see you alive. We were so unsure, we-“

“Molly,” came the voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt, “let her sit.”

Hermione, determined to prove her strength, removed herself from the grasps of Ginny, Remus, and Molly, and walked unsteadily toward the table and seated herself. She opened her mouth to speak, but Mad-Eye beat her to it.

“You’re a damn strong girl, Hermione Granger. What happened to you would have killed some of the most powerful witches and wizards.”

“Mad-eye,” Kingsley cut in again. Moody silenced himself, but not without a reproachful glare. “Hermione, I’m sure you have many questions for us,” he stated, “and I will answer them as best I can for you, what is the last thing you remember?” he asked, eyes kind and almost pitying. Hermione hated it.

She thought hard, grasping again for recollection of the events at the manor. “I remember most of it,” she realized, “up until we apparated with Dobby. Anything past that is just…gone.” Her voice was dry, cracking in places, and she felt a strong surge of appreciation for Molly Weasley when she set town a cup of tea in front of her. Hermione picked it up and downed it quickly, relishing in the feeling of the hot liquid running down her throat. They all watched her, every eye calculating her clumsy movements.

“Would you like to know what happened?” Kingsley asked. The occupants of the room held their breath. Hermione nodded, locking the man’s eyes into contact with hers. “Dobby brought you, Harry, and Ron here. The elf, he did not survive.” Hermione willed the small well of tears in her eyes to subside, she knew Harry must be crushed. “You were in a…terrible state, Hermione. You were inches from life.”

Hermione’s face remained expressionless. “You’re at shell cottage, the home of Fleur and Bill. You’ve been here for three weeks.” She felt a brick drop into her stomach. The horcruxes, they must be so behind, Voldemort must be gaining even more strength…

“Harry and Ron left two weeks ago, stating they had a task of utmost importance, I believe they mentioned this task was orders from Dumbledore.” The brick, if possible, dropped even further down in her stomach. They l _eft_ her? “They brought a goblin with them, Griphook if I remember correctly, and Mr. Ollivander has been relocated to another safe-house and is healing quite well.” Silence encased the room, and Hermione felt a tornado of emotions blow through her mind. She refocused her attention, emotions needed to be dealt with later. Now, now was a time for logic.

“Hermione,” Kingsley continued, “it is vital that you tell us of Harry and Ron’s plans, we are the Order, we can assist them.” At this, her mouth formed a thin line and she straightened her shoulders.

“I cannot tell you that.”

Kingsley grimaced. “We thought you might say that.”

“It’s not as if you can blame her,” Tonks piped up, “orders from Dumbledore are orders from Dumbledore. He wanted it to be secret for a reason, we need to respect that, and trust him like we always have.”

“Why the man entrusted a mission to three teenagers, I will never know.” Remus added. Hermione felt another pang of guilt, remembering the last encounter she and her friends had with the man, denying his help and guidance then too.

“The boys left a letter for you, dear.” Molly said, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. “They love you, they wanted you with them,” she continued, “but you were in no state to-”

“Where is it?” Hermione asked, “Where is the letter?” It was placed in front of her, thankfully unopened. She grabbed it hungrily, but hesitated. “I’m going outside,” she announced, standing abruptly, ignoring the wave of lightheadedness and nausea that followed.

All eyes watched her as the made the slow and unsteady trek to the door, and she felt rather than saw Ginny following her from a distance. Once outside, free from the suffocating atmosphere of the kitchen, Hermione let out a breath she was unaware she had been holding. She slumped against the side of the house, momentarily appreciating the rather breathtaking view in front of her, the sun splashing on her face like a warm bath.The door opened once more, and Ginny sat in front of Hermione, idly zapping a small beetle with her wand, making it do a strange little dance. Hermione grinned, the expression feeling unfamiliar on her features. She idly wondered at the last time her face had held a smile.

“You should have seen yourself,” Ginny voiced. “There was blood everywhere Hermione, you were-“

“I don’t want to hear it,” she replied, delicately opening the letter from Harry and Ron. Her eyes devoured the thin scrawl of Harry’s writing.

_Mione,_

_We’ve left, as you probably have noticed, to find the horcruxes. We’ve come so far, the end is close. We know it's driving you mad that we’ve left, but what you need to focus on is getting better. Do not try to find us, you know you won’t be able to. We couldn’t have brought you, no one would have allowed it, and if something more would have happened to you..well, there’s no way we would forgive ourselves. But since you’re reading this, we’re assuming you’re healthy enough, and incredibly angry. Fight with the order. You have so much to offer them. We will see you soon. Please forgive us._

_All our love,_

_Harry and Ron_

Hermione read the letter three times through, unsure of her emotions. She was incredibly angry, almost dangerously so. But she also was understanding, if she had gone with them, she would have slowed the process. She had enough brains to understand that fact. She again pushed her emotions to the back of her brain, reminding herself that she could process them at a later time.

Ginny was eyeing her carefully, deducing the thoughts playing out on Hermione’s constricted face. “They didn’t want to leave you, you know.”

“I know.”


End file.
